


When He Gets Angry ~or~ In Which Fenris Gets Pissed at Himself

by Lypreila



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anger, Angst, Arson, Awkward Hawke, Broody Fenris (Dragon Age), Burn down the House, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fawke - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I think my husband is jealous of Fenris, Implied Fenris/Hawke, Protective Fenris, Sad Hawke, Self Loathing Fenris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5132117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lypreila/pseuds/Lypreila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've always wondered - What would happen if Fenris witnessed Hawke getting hurt after he left her? I imagine a sharp right turn into boiling self-loathing.  And then, Fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When He Gets Angry ~or~ In Which Fenris Gets Pissed at Himself

She stares at it often, the bit of red ribbon around his wrist. When walking, while playing Wicked Grace (Which caused her to loose, much to Varric's crowing pleasure and delight), even once in combat. That didn't end well.

She had caught the flash of crimson as his sword had flicked away a dagger wielding Carta thug, whose daggers happened to be heading towards her exposed back. After that she could see little else, trusting to her companions to get out of the path of her spells. He was beautiful to watch in a fight, all silent fury. He would phase through them, swinging his sword as though it weighed nothing. Hawke herself knew that it weighed nearly as much as her.

_"Hmm...maybe that's how he could pick me up so easily..."_

The thought was unwelcome so she increased the pace of her deadly dance, sliding through the crowd with what seemed like effortless grace. She was at Merrill's side, thunking her staff over the head of a bow wielding elf, then she pirouetted away, throwing a fireball at the warrior rushing her with his shield, laughing with delight as he tried to put the flames out. But always a part of her attention was on him, especially on that silly ribbon looped round his gauntlet.

It had happened shortly after she nearly stuck Aveline's foot with a spear of ice meant for the staff wielding mage to her left. She realized what she had done only after Aveline's shocked exclamation had drawn her whole attention. That was why, she would think later, she hadn't sensed her barrier flicker out, hadn't heard the victorious shout of the (no longer quite so on fire) warrior who had returned only to see the perfect opening for his revenge strike. She had been watching Aveline , and damning herself for thinking of him.

The sword sliced along her side, feeling like a burning flame as it cut through her robe and her skin. Turning, falling, she threw a last spell, freezing the warrior and his two remaining companions in place. In the eternity it took her to fall she heard a shattering noise, followed by several curses in three languages. Then soft arms were around her and Fenris was screaming at Varric, at Aveline, at Merrill to do something, anything. The last thing she heard was Merrill's squeaky voice protesting that she knew no healing spells. 

Hours later she fought her way back to consciousness to find Varric sitting by her bed, reading to her from one of his books. Her side was sore, oh Maker it _hurt._ Her voice was rough when she spoke, her throat dry. 

"How's Hard in Hightown coming along?"

Varric raised an eyebrow at her, setting the book into his lap.

"Have I ever told you you're an idiot Hawke?"

"Yes, but you can do it again if it'll make you feel better. I think it's good for you to try and take me down a peg or two. Wont work, but still. So who stitched me up?

Varric let a slow grin spread across his face. He couldn't resist her when she was like this, smiling and tossing off jokes at her own expense mere hours after being nearly gutted like a fish.

"Hawke" he said, rearranging his face into some semblance of a scolding frown.

"Yes Varric?" Her features were a study in innocence.

"You're a stone cursed idiot."

A delighted grin spread over her face, and, pointedly ignoring the sharp pain in her side, she wiggled herself into a sitting position.

"Oohhh! A stone cursed idiot, that must've really made you feel better! But you didn't answer, who got to practice their needlework on me this time?"

"I'll have you know that calling you an idiot is one of the highlights of my day" Varric responded with an air of satisfaction. "But as to who stitched you up, well, Aveline dumped two elfroot potions down your throat, then Broody ran all the way to Darktown with you. I've never seen anyone run so fast, he was a silvery blur."

Hawke was silent at that. Varric, however, wasn't going to let her off that easily. He wouldn't stop till she knew what the elf had done for her, and what he, in his anger, was doing right now. He could see out the window of Hawkes room, across the low roofs to Fenris' mansion, but he didn't draw her attention to it yet.

"He went to Blondie for you, you know. Ghosted in there, set you down, then grabbed Anders and sat him right down next to you. Actually touched him, Hawke. Because Broody thought he might be too late. Anders told me all about it afterwards. He stayed there with you too, stayed in that dank hole with the mage he hates till you were stable enough to be moved home. Then he carried you all the way here."

An interminable silence stretched, Hawke looking at her hands as they clenched at the blanket. At last she spoke with a small voice, so unlike her usual laughing tones that Varric had to smile sadly.

"Is he still here? I'd like to thank him."

Shaking his head slowly, Varric lifted a finger to point out the window. Hawke's eyes followed, though she didn't really want to see the solitary window that would be lit at the mansion Fenris squatted in. Instead her startled gaze beheld something else entirely. The windows of the top floor, the only floor she could see, were stained with flickering orange light. Every so often a flash of silvery blue would light one of them up. Smoke was pouring from both chimneys, far too much to have come from a small fireplace fire.

They watched for another fifteen minutes, till the silver blue flashes stopped. Ten minutes after that flames burst through the upstairs windows in succession, licking upwards with renewed vigor till the eaves too were ablaze. Hawke sighed, a sound seeming to carry all the weight of the world on it. Varric, mistaking her concern, laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"He got out. Don't worry."

"I know. That's not it."

They continued to watch in silence the destruction of the once grand manse. She hated it when Fenris got angry, and she had a feeling that this was one of his two worst types of anger; anger at her, or worse, at himself. Another sigh fell to fill the silence. All this because she couldn't stop staring at the favor he wore, the little ribbon that kept her hope alive. 

"Varric?"

"Yes, Hawke?"

"This is a real mess, isn't it."

It was a statement, not a question, and the dwarf squeezed her thin shoulder in sympathy.

"Yeah, yeah it really is."

They watched for the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this might be a tad OOC. Ir Abelas. Lo siento. Gomennasai. Also, I have problems with commas. I own nothing.


End file.
